


the surprise ending i'm depending on

by diets0dasociety



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: 11x11 to 21x20, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Author!Michael, Cake - friendship, Cashton - Friendship, M/M, Mentions of sexual activity, Non-Linear Narrative, Panic Attacks, Vomiting, it's really just angst central, lashton is minor but definitely there, model!calum, not that it's relevant but, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 00:24:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8599756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diets0dasociety/pseuds/diets0dasociety
Summary: It seems the most obvious escape route: that he’s panicking over nothing and three years has a peculiar way of tweaking certain memories and it’s completely understandable that he’d see a similar phrase and make a connection in his head. It’s probably nothing, probably just another high-profile event he’ll get pleasantly tipsy whilst attending and forget about within a few weeks, once the hangover’s disappeared and unwanted texts from random numbers he’s obtained throughout the night stop filtering in. And yet. or, Calum receives an invitation that opens up a window to his past.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic literally spawned from me listening to Story of Another Us too much, oops. I'm really happy with this so hope you are too!
> 
> Inspiration for the general layout of the narrative in this comes from Clouds by thesoulsailor so please, if you haven't, go check that story out. It's 10/10. 
> 
> Also, the fact I'm posting this on Michael's birthday is completely coincidental but let's pretend it's not.

**Present**

 

His first thought is that they’ve made a mistake. An innocent, albeit alarmingly coincidental, fuck up.

There’s no way though, and he knows it. It’d have to be an accident of monumental stupidity, considering his name’s printed clearly in black ink a total of three times on the page; the initial address, the invitation itself and the RSVP slip. Then there’s his agency’s signature scrawled along the bottom, not to mention the personalised dress code and handwritten postscript that, _“Yes, Ashton can be your plus one.”_

His next thought is that _he’s_ made a mistake; that those five words, bold and cursive in the centre of the paper, aren’t the same five words he’d heard so often in mutters and mumbles on late nights. It seems the most obvious escape route: that he’s panicking over nothing and three years has a peculiar way of tweaking certain memories and it’s _completely_ understandable that he’d see a similar phrase and make a connection in his head. It’s probably nothing, probably just another high-profile event he’ll get pleasantly tipsy whilst attending and forget about within a few weeks, once the hangover’s disappeared and unwanted texts from random numbers he’s obtained throughout the night stop filtering in. And yet.

It eats at his psyche for hours after, even when he’s no longer staring at the ink on the page. There’s no distracting himself from the five words parading through his brain like a tornado, like his own memories are tearing themselves apart and won’t stop until his fears are either confirmed or dispelled. He tries to lose himself in some shitty sitcom, sinking into the sofa and focusing on whatever ropey plotline he’s dropped in on, but it’s like his ears have sealed up. He can see the characters talking, watches the emotion in their faces as their mouths open and close, but all he can hear are those five damn words. There’s an obvious solution, and his fingers twitch with the thought of reaching for his phone and simply searching the damn event, checking if it’s really what he thinks, but something that could be so significant - or insignificant, in equal measure - surely deserves more than a lonely, underwhelming internet search. So he does the only thing he can do. He waits for Ashton.

 

“I don’t see why you couldn’t do this yourself.” Ashton doesn’t understand the logic, but then again Ashton doesn’t understand the significance of the five words, so it’s to be expected.

“It’s important.”

“It’s a movie premiere,” Ashton spins round in his seat. “You go to, like, six of these a year, Calum.”

Calum scowls. Maybe he should’ve just done it himself, if Ashton’s going to be so damn difficult about it. But he’s waited now, and the laptop’s open, and all Ashton has to do is type the fucking words.

He nudges the invitation forward, “Just google it, okay?”

“Fine,” Ashton sighs, but spins back round all the same and leaves Calum with a satisfied almost smile, held back by nerves. The older boy picks up the invitation, squinting to read the text without his glasses on, and begins to type. “The… sto-“

“I asked you to google not to perform a dramatic reading, Ashton.” Calum snaps, grabbing the piece of paper and slamming it face down back on the desk.

“For fucks’ sake, Calum, I will fucking leave if you don’t shut up.” Ashton threatens, though there’s no truth in it and Calum knows that, knows that he’s got Ashton for life regardless of what happens around them. Primarily because they’re best friends, but also because they share an apartment and Ashton would have literally nowhere else to go. Calum’s thankful for it, and pats Ashton’s shoulder in silent apology. There’s a pause, and then Ashton’s pressing enter and everything’s just… there.

The screen’s overloaded with information; release dates, reviews, amazon links, trailers, posters. There’s a tiny plot synopsis in one corner, and Calum gasps sharply as his eyes trail over it. He almost reads it, _almost_ , but blinks away and grabs the mouse instead. He finds the first link – an IMDB page or something – and lists of actors, directors and producers fill the page. Calum’s right on the brink, hands shaking as he scans for something, _anything_ that’ll prove him right or wrong. He can feel Ashton’s eyes on him, concern and confusion captured in the hazel, but Calum can’t focus on anything right now. He clicks onto the next page, and there’s editors and cinematographers and designers and-

“Holy fucking shit.” Ashton breathes, and Calum feels his heart sinking as he takes in the words staring back at him.

 _“Screenplay adapted from the novel_ The Story of Another Us _by Michael G. Clifford.”_

 

**2011**

“Calum?”

It’s a Sunday morning – around 10am, probably, if the bright rays of light filtering through the cracks in the curtain are any indication. The temperature’s just right, cool enough to cocoon comfortably in a duvet but warm enough that sleeping in boxers is the only option, and the gentle soundtrack of suburban life is playing at optimum volume as the streets outside wake up. It’s Calum’s perfect – and only – opportunity for a lie in, and it’s being ruined by the voice of someone who clearly wants him to be sleep deprived for the rest of his life.

Calum knows this because it’s the same voice that kept him awake until 4am in the morning, recounting tales of video games and daydreams, knowing full well that he was exhausted from two hours of grueling football training. It’s the same voice that loudly prevents him from napping during study breaks at school, after Saturday morning matches and before particularly long days. But perhaps _most_ effectively, it’s the voice that replays over and over in his head on lonely nights, when he can’t force his eyes to stay shut and resigns to remembering the echo of three little words with a smile on his face.

“ _Calum.”_

He rolls over with a not-quite-exasperated huff to be met with shining green eyes, brimming with anticipation, the body of which they belong to sprawled half on Calum and half on top of the overhanging duvet. Said body was _not_ there last night, Calum knows as much, meaning his traitorous mother has willingly allowed for the ruin of his short yet blissful sleep. He’ll have to have a stern word – later, though.

“Mornin’, Mike,” Calum whispers, voice hoarse with sleep. Not that it matters; the boy beside him could probably hear his every thought in such close proximity.

Michael’s eyes light up, lips twitching into a fond smile, as they so often do upon witnessing his boyfriend just out of slumber. “Hey, babe.” He pauses for a second, taking in Calum’s droopy eyes and stifled yawn, “Sorry for waking you up.”

“Mhmm, sure.” Calum rolls his eyes, albeit fondly, and throws an arm over the covers to pull the other boy into his side. If he’s going to be awake, he might aswell be getting cuddled, he reasons. Michael curls up against him almost instinctively, and Calum smiles at the subtle reminder of how completely at home they are with each other, how being together is an effortless privilege.

“I’ve got good news,” Michael declares from his position in the crook of Calum’s neck, lips brushing against the soft skin as they whisper words into it. Calum hums in encouragement, angling his head to drop a ghost of a kiss against the strands of dyed red hair tickling his nose. Michael continues, “It’s really, _really_ good, so you’ve got to pay attention.”

“Attention is being paid,” Calum mumbles against the older boy’s head, earning himself a quiet giggle from the latter.

“Okay, okay,” Michael breathes, and Calum can feel his chest contract from where they’re pressed up against each other. “Calum, babe. I, your incredible genius boyfriend, am writing a novel.”

There’s a pause, and Michael’s body is still tense against Calum’s, which the latter has come to learn means an impressed response is required. “Oh, wow,” Calum breathes, and his boyfriend deflates in relief almost immediately, as expected. “Is it the alien one?”

“What?” Michael’s head whips into view, confusion written clear on his face. “What alien one?”

“You know, the idea you had with the life forms on the Saturn spaceship or whatever?”

“Well, first of all, it was Jupiter,” Michael rolls his eyes, and Calum fights the urge to sigh at his boyfriend’s attitude. It’s far too early. “And, I told you I abandoned that months ago.”

“I liked that one, though.” Calum murmurs, nuzzling back into the pale expanse of his boyfriend’s neck. There’s a huff, and then his head’s being forced up onto the pillow. Michael looks ever so lovingly done with his shit, which has come to be his standard expression when dealing with Calum on a morning.

“You only liked it because I wanted to name a character after you,” Calum hums in agreement, earning a scoff. “You’ll like this one better, I promise. And I’m actually going to write it this time, no excuses.”

Calum would never say it, but there’s no way in hell that’s true. His boyfriend has a tendency to get lost in his own imagination, overwhelmed with creativity that makes it nigh on impossible for him to ever concentrate on one thing at once. Calum wants to laugh at his sheer determination, but there’s that excited sparkle in Michael’s eyes that he would do anything to keep there forever, and so he simply smiles.

“Go on then; tell me all about it.”

It’s round about now that Michael would usually burst into energetic monologue, detailing every character and plot point and setting on his mind whilst Calum simply listened and adored quietly. That’s how it always goes, every few months when Michael decides to invest all his energy in a new project – but there’s nothing.

“Babe?” Calum’s understandably confused; he’s met with a timid _hmm_ from his boyfriend, who looks uncharacteristically nervous with his pale bottom lip trapped between his teeth and fingers gripping against the sheets.

“It’s just,” Michael pauses, takes a deep breath before meeting brown eyes. “It’s about us? Like me and you, together.”

Something traitorous in Calum’s stomach twists, as it has the tendency to do when the issue of privacy comes up. He wishes it would just disappear, but there’s some ingrained dagger of self-consciousness that begs him to keep himself and his sexuality and his love for Michael inside him at all times. Michael’s well aware of its existence – it kept the two of them apart for far too long, after all – and the reminder of it must be evident on his boyfriend’s face, because he rushes to explain.

“It’s just, well, our story’s pretty romantic, right?” His voice wavers, but the enthusiastic glint is back and shining in the emerald of his eyes, “I’ll change the details. It won’t be Michael and Calum, it can be Alex and Henry or something stupid, okay? But it’ll be our story; it’ll still be us. But, like, another us.”

The words are right on the tip of Calum’s tongue, his insecurities formulating a response before he has time to rationalize with himself. He’s about to do it – about to suffocate his boyfriend’s creative intentions – when he fully appreciates the scene before him. Michael, in all his celestial beautiful simplicity, is watching him with such intensity, as if he can see the very cogs whirring in Calum’s mind. Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, Calum is overwhelmed by the love he feels for the boy beside him. He’s reminded that falling in love with Michael is the best thing that’s ever happened to him, and he’d travel to the ends of the earth to make it worth it – to make him happy.

“I love it.”

The smile on Michael’s face tells Calum that he doesn’t have to go anywhere to do so.

 

**Present**

The world stops for a few minutes, or so Calum thinks. In all honesty, a plane could crash right into the apartment and he wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away from the screen for even a second.

There’s very little he can compare it to, this feeling. It’s like his mind’s shut down from front to back, leaving only his eyes to fully comprehend how to digest the words in front of him. He’s scraping the barrel for an emotional response, something, anything that’ll snap him out of his stare and give him something to _feel_ but, no. There’s only emptiness. Emptiness and the ghost of what feels like an arrow pushing deeper into his heart.

Ashton clears his throat after a few seconds of silence, shuffling in his chair to look at Calum, whose attention is still wholly captured by the screen. There’s an uncertain tension settled between them that’s making Ashton restless, almost _itchy_ with the need to speak. Calum’s unaffected, obviously. He just stares.

It’s the last thing Ashton expected when he got the panicked phone call, when he was being shoved into a chair and told to _“just shut up and google.”_ Now that he thinks about it, he’s not quite sure what he expected in the first place, and it dawns on him with a sting that he probably should’ve foreseen this. Nothing ever gets to Calum quite like the memory of the boy he left behind.

“Did you know he wrote a book?” Ashton’s staring inquisitively at Calum, unsure if he wants to know the answer to the question even as it slips from his lips. The younger boy doesn’t even flinch, just continues to stare unblinkingly at the screen, no acknowledgement that he can even hear Ashton’s voice. There’s a queasy feeling in Ashton’s gut as he watches Calum in this state, a reminder of the only other time he’d seen his best friend like this. Everything always comes back to Michael.

“Yeah.” The reply takes Ashton by complete surprise, and he lifts his head up in a flash just to check if he’d even heard it. Calum’s lips barely move, pulled tight in a half grimace, and his voice would be inaudible to anyone who hadn’t spent every second of the last three years listening to it. Luckily, that’s exactly what Ashton had done.

“He hadn’t finished it when…” Calum trails off, eyes still trained on the screen. “I didn’t… I didn’t think he’d ever do it.”

Calum’s heart beats, just once, and the floodgates of his mind let it all come crashing back down. The long nights, the ink smudged onto skin, the falling asleep between pages, the days filtering through memories, the stress, the inevitable disagreements, the kissing between chapters – the best of loves and the worst of ends. For the first time in months, _years_ at this point, Calum immerses himself in every memory he’d forced himself to forget.

Ashton watches on helplessly as the first cracks appear. He sees Calum’s stare falter, watches as his fingers begin to shake where they’re tense over his knees. Ashton’s pulse rises for just a second, the ghosts of nights spent coaxing his best friend out of breakdowns still haunting him, and he holds his breath as Calum begins to lose his. He can almost feel it all spiraling downwards and his arms ache to shoot out and catch Calum before he falls – like muscle memory – then, just as quickly as it came, it goes.

Calum breathes, deep and slow, and stands with a newfound determination. He turns to Ashton, blinks once, and coughs. “We’re not going.” And just like that, his feet are taking him out of the room and onto his bed.

It’s a habit of his – literally walking away from problems – and he knows it. He’s known it since he was just a little kid, when he and his sister Mali had smashed their mother’s most precious vase and he’d chosen to escape to the park rather than face up and apologise like Mali had. He knew it when he stopped going to physiotherapy two moths after he fractured his knee, ending his potential football career before it even had the chance to blossom at the ripe old age of seventeen. He knew it, _really_ understood the severity of it, as he packed up his room that stormy November night with too many words too late to take back and even more left unsaid.

Ashton knows it’s a habit aswell, which explains why Calum isn’t granted an easy escape. He can hear Ashton’s flustered footsteps already approaching even as he slams the bedroom door; a completely useless gesture, as it’s thrown open just seconds later.

“Get the fuck up.” Ashton growls, but Calum’s too focused on pushing every memory back into the unexplored caverns of his mind to care. The older boy exhales in frustration, reaching forward to yank Calum’s leg around. “We’re not done talking about this, Calum.”

“Oh, I think we are,” He mutters from where his mouth’s pressed firmly against the pillow. “There’s no way in hell I am going anywhere near that premiere.”

There’s a surprised pause from Ashton as it strikes him that Calum doesn’t sound broken, doesn’t sound like the vulnerable ghost of past events he’d expected. He sounds cold, harsh – everything that Calum isn’t.

“Cal,” The bedsprings groan as Ashton sits down. “I really think we should go. He might not even be there.”

“He fucking wrote it, Ashton He’s going to be there.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing?”

Silence. Ugly, unwanted silence. Calum doesn’t even breathe, and Ashton gulps in anticipation of the storm he’s about to come under. He waits with baited breath, but as the quiet seconds pass it dawns on him that Calum remains still, and that the storm has passed just as quickly as it threatened to appear. That fact alone ignites a fire of his own in Ashton’s stomach.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” The words rip from his throat, the most aggressive he’s ever been towards his best friend. “Nothing? You’ve got fucking nothing to say to me?”

“What did you expect?” comes the response.

“Fucking… fucking anything!” Ashton cries incredulously, “I can’t believe you’d be so fucking heartless. This is _Michael_ with a fucking film, Calum, our Mikey!”

“He’s not my Mikey anymore!”

And, oh, here comes the storm. Calum’s up from the bed within seconds, chest pressed against Ashton’s and a bitter blend of rage and poisonous, poisonous sadness in his eyes. “He’s not _mine,”_ Calum roars, “And I don’t want to fucking see him, or that fucking stupid film.”

“Why? Why fucking not, huh? It’s been years, Calum, can’t you get over it?”

Calum sees red. It takes over his sight, his mind, his chest like a disease – and then the heat drops into a blue. A lonely, heavy blue that weighs him down and makes his eyelids droop under the weight of realisation.

“Why would I want to watch everything I let go of played out on a silver screen?”

Ashton stumbles, “W-What?”

“The book, the film,” Calum sighs, swaying with the pressure of it all. “It’s about me – and Michael. Him and me. He wrote it about us.”

 

Ashton allows him four and a half minutes of quiet before beginning the inquisition. That, in itself, takes less than two minutes, and then Ashton is up to date with anything and everything Calum can bear to let fall of his tongue. It’s silent again for some time after, but not the devastating silent that befell earlier, more of a reflective period. Calum watches Ashton stroke his chin and furrow his brow pensively, and feels a strange cocktail of gratitude and exasperation towards his best friend that leaves a deceivingly sweet taste at the back of his teeth. He’s thankful to have him, immeasurably so, but wishes he wasn’t so goddamn intrusive sometimes; this dredging up of painful events could’ve been avoided.

The atmosphere shifts with a decisive cough from Ashton’s throat, and then Calum’s heart sinks with the conclusion he’d most expected and least wanted.

“Well, I’m going,” Ashton says, eyeing Calum with caution. “And I really think it’d be good of you to come too.”

Calum stays silent, chooses only to meet Ashton’s gaze in a last plea to his sympathies. He expects to find a little bit of pity overwhelmed by determination in his best friend’s eyes, but something in his stomach twists at the edge he sees in the hazel. It’s only then, when he sees the smallest bit of weakness in Ashton’s eyes, that Calum remembers it’s not just his past that’s suddenly coming back.

“You think Luke’s gonna be there?” Calum sees Ashton’s eyelids flutter even as the name leaves his mouth, sees the effect his name still has. It’s less of a shutdown, like Calum experiences, and more of a tremor of hope. Calum guesses that’s always been the difference between the two of them; the pessimist vs. the optimist.

“I know he is.”

“Ash-“

“No, I know,” Ashton interrupts Calum’s concerned glance. “He’s on the editorial team. I checked.” Calum nods, and a flicker of a smile lights up Ashton’s face. “Not like he wouldn’t be Michael’s plus one, anyway.”

Just for a second, the slightest of seconds, Calum wants to smile. He wants to roll his eyes like he once did whenever anyone would mention Michael and Luke’s fiercely passionate friendship, wants to point out that they wouldn’t even know each other were it not for Calum’s gangly legs and determination to make his two favourite people talk. It only lasts for a second, and then reality slams back down and he realises that his two favourite people are no longer just that. Calum realises that he doesn’t even know his two favourite people anymore, and that his third is desperate to change that. Calum realises he can’t do it.

“I…” Calum’s voice breaks, “I can’t do it, Ash.”

Ashton nods once, and leaves. Calum doesn’t even try to stop the tears that roll down his cheeks.

 

**2010**

 

It’s a Tuesday evening in June when he decides it’s the right time. The sun’s low in the sky and the air’s cool enough for their breath to freeze into little nebulae the second it passes through chapped lips.

Calum can’t stop staring at Michael’s lips – Michael in general, really. Even like this, when it’s cold and they probably shouldn’t be sat out on his back porch, there’s nothing Calum can focus on other than the slightly shivering boy beside him. The way his pink lips purse and stretch as he tries to warm them up, the way his fingers clench around Calum’s whenever there’s a particularly cool gust of wind, the way his fringe starts to drop out from under his beanie when he sneezes. Calum thinks every little fibre of him is perfect, so he tells him exactly that.

Michael falters, the pink already lining his cheeks deepening into a subtle blush. It’s his standard response to compliments; neither acceptance nor denial, just a silent nod and a blush and a little shudder. It makes Calum want to smother his boyfriend in kisses, makes him want to whisper everything he finds beautiful about him between his lips and pale skin.

It’s all rather overwhelming, to feel this way so young. He told his mum about it, and she just laughed and shook her head and uttered the usual _“Oh, Calum, if only you knew.”_ He wishes he knew whatever it is that he doesn’t know – maybe it’s the reason she smiles so knowingly at the two of them whenever they come in from school hand in hand with swollen lips.

But that’s beside the point. He shakes the thoughts away – any thoughts that aren’t about the boy next to him, that is – and turns to face him. Michael’s fingers twitch just slightly between his, and it makes Calum smile with familiarity. It reminds him of why this is exactly the right time. And then he can’t wait.

“I have something to tell you.”

Michael’s silent, eyes wide in anticipation, and just nods. Calum smiles, again, because he can’t seem to stop whenever he’s around his boyfriend. And then he’s smiling even wider, because calling Michael his boyfriend in his head alone makes him feel a little bit tingly, even after six months of doing so.

“Go on then, stupid.” Michael’s voice cracks just a little, because he’s on his way out of early puberty now. Calum resists the urge to poke fun, even if he _did_ just get called stupid, because this is a serious conversation he needs to have seriously with his serious boyfriend about his serious feelings. It’s very serious.

“Okay,” Calum exhales, just once. “I’ve been thinking. A lot, actually.” Michael snorts, and Calum ignores it – because serious, remember? “And I’ve been thinking about you, again, quite a lot. I’ve thought about it for a while and I’ve decided that I,” Calum’s voice trails off, finding himself lost in Michael’s bright green eyes. They’re just staring at each other, hands grasped between their legs and holding tightly, but it feels like the most intimate moment they might’ve ever shared.

“I love you.”

In the brief silence that follows, Calum questions his sanity. He knows that’s what he was _going to_ say, but in the intensity of the moment he can’t quite remember the words leaving his mouth. Confusion clouds his mind, but then he sees how Michael’s biting his pink lower lip and how his eyes seem that little bit glossier and – _oh._

“Fuck.” Calum blurts, and that’s not what he wanted to say at all, “Fuck, Mikey.”

Michael looks mere seconds away from fleeing the country, and so Calum does the only thing he can do. He slides his shaking hands to his boyfriend’s cold cheeks, tangles his fingers in the soft blonde hair behind his ears and pushes their lips together in a bruising kiss.

Michael whimpers in surprise, arms flailing momentarily before finding their place on Calum’s waist. Calum relaxes with the weight of his boyfriend’s hands on his body, presses himself forward until he feels his legs moving to bracket Michael’s thighs, trapping him against the porch. Michael falls backwards, tugging Calum’s lower lip to follow him down, and the two lie tight against each other’s chests on the decking, cold lips and warm tongues colliding in perfect rhythm.

With his eyes closed, Calum can feel every tiny touch of his boyfriend like fire against his skin. He feels cold fingertips disappear under his jumper, trail against his hipbones and igniting a spark in the bottom of his stomach. It’s too much; the heat of his love and the cold of the air, and Calum feels breathless with how he wants this moment to never end. He’d do anything to kiss his boy on a splintered wooden porch for the rest of his life.

They pull apart eventually, with much willpower, but keep their foreheads close. Their breath warms the space between their mouths, noses brushing in a rhythmic attempt to stay intimate.

After a second of deep breathing, Michael giggles against the tan skin of Calum’s cheek. “So… you love me too, right?”

“Yeah,” Calum laughs breathlessly, catching his boyfriend’s lower lip between his and nibbling softly. “Yeah, I love you Mikey.”

“Good to know,” Michael hums, dragging his lips down to Calum’s neck, to the protruding Adam’s apple, to sharp collarbones. “Mind if we take all this loving inside, though? I’m starting to get really turned on and this cold’s doing nothing for my boner.”

 

Later, when Michael’s downstairs raiding every cupboard in the house in nothing but his boxers, Calum smiles at the ceiling. It’s become a tradition of sorts, another subtle nod towards their familiarity with each other; Michael will disappear half-naked to subdue his hunger whilst Calum lies in some sort of transcendent post-intimacy trance, trying to ignore the awkward conversation he can hear playing out between his boyfriend and his mother in the kitchen downstairs. Calum knows other people might find it weird – Luke’s made it clear he does, on multiple occasions – but he can’t help but see it as a solidifier of their love. They don’t _need_ to cuddle for hours after trading messy handjobs; they’re just that comfortable with each other.

The door opening interrupts Calum’s train of thought, and he looks down from the ceiling to see his boyfriend, pink in the cheeks and doritos in hand, sheepishly shuffling in from the hallway.

“Um, your mum told me to tell you to leave the sheets on top of the washing basket,” He mutters, crumbs falling from the sides of his mouth.

Calum laughs, dropping his head back to the pillow, “I’m sure that was a fun conversation.”

“I want to die a bit.”

“Please don’t die the same day I tell you I love you for the first time,” Calum shuffles over to the side of the bed, laughing as Michael flops down beside him with a sigh. “That would suck.”

“I feel like it’d be worth it to never see your mum again,” Michael mumbles, pressing his face against Calum’s chest. Bits of dorito scrape against his skin, but it’s okay, because it’s so inherently Michael that it makes Calum’s heart flutter just a bit in his chest.

“My mum loves you, loser. She just likes to embarrass us.”

“Yeah, well,” Michael yawns. “If she’s this good at embarrassing us at fourteen, imagine what she’ll be like when we get married.”

The shift in atmosphere is almost instant. Calum’s heart stops beating at once, blood flooding to his face as visions of Michael being _his_ forever tumble through his mind. On top of him, Michael’s as still as a rock. Neither of them breathe for what feels like years, and Calum feels like he might explode in the tension, before it dawns on him that it doesn’t need to be there – like, at all.

He giggles, and drops a kiss to Michael’s forehead. “Can’t wait.” The words are almost whispered, but the effect is instant. Michael’s heart beats quickly against Calum’s warm chest, and their fingers intertwine beneath the duvet. It feels a lot like being in love, and even more like a happy ever after, and Calum wants to drown in it.

 

**Present**

Calum’s never been good with words, but he finds it especially difficult to articulate how he feels as black silk filters through his fingertips on that big night. He doesn’t know how he got here, doesn’t care to remember when all he can focus on is tying this bow tie and not collapsing whilst doing so.

It’s eerily silent in the apartment, not that that’s surprising in the slightest. Calum can’t recall speaking more than ten words to Ashton in the last week. He doesn’t know when, or why, two of those fleeting words were, _“I’ll go.”_

It hadn’t sunk in, he thinks, not properly until this very second. Not until now, as he looks into the mirror opposite him and sees the purple bags hanging beneath his eyes, the tousled hair from restless nights, the pink lips from hours of nervous biting. The suit he’s chosen is his best – tailored just for him with a light pink inlay and tiny football cuffs, to remind him of home – but he’s never felt more uncomfortable. The material seems to sag off his shoulders like a sheet, trousers too tight against his shaking knees and ankles that crack with tension as he paces the room.

The man in the mirror feels like an alternate version of himself. The anxious eyes and unsettled demeanor is not, can’t possibly be, the same man that literally built a career out of his unwavering confidence and ability to look composed in all situations. The nervous wreck staring back at him is not the Calum who left his entire family, his entire life, two years ago to come to California with nothing but a dream, a smile and a supportive best friend.

The resulting nausea is like a tidal wave; it lingers and threatens from a distance, but nothing could prepare him for the impact. Sweat rolls from his forehead, a sickly heat burning in his chest and capturing his lungs in a deadly vice of anxiety. It’s too much.

Calum’s becoming far too well acquainted with the porcelain bowl of the toilet, he thinks. It’s alarming, frankly, how often his mind allows itself to overwork to the point of illness these days; even before, when the past was still in the past, he had a tendency to end a particularly stressful week with his head down the toilet. Ashton’s starting to get a little concerned, but he always has cared more about Calum’s health than Calum himself ever did. A side effect of their friendship.

A short glance to his watch tells Calum the car is set to arrive in five minutes. That revelation in itself sends another wave of distress through his stomach, but the echo of dress shoes pacing impatiently across the laminate floor of the hallway is motivation enough to leave his place by the toilet. An off coloured stain on his jacket sleeve catches his eye as he opens the door to the bathroom, and it disturbs Calum that not even for a second does he feel inclined to wash it. His mind’s far too preoccupied to care.

Ashton, as expected, is staring rather passive aggressively at the clock when Calum makes it into the hallway. It’s completely silent, save for the ticking as each second passes, and a heavy tension makes the air thick and Calum’s skin crawl.

Ashton won’t look him in the eye, Calum realises very quickly. For the few uncomfortable minutes they spend together in the hallway, Ashton’s focus is anywhere _but_ his best friend – from the clock to his shoes to his phone that Calum notices is shaking between his fingers. There’s one fleeting moment of eye contact, and Ashton’s resolve crumbles just long enough for Calum to gauge the vulnerable hope surely taking over his mind, the obvious thoughts of _LukeLukeLuke_ that must have been circulating since the day the invitation was received. And then, just as quickly as it appeared, it’s gone and Calum is left with only his own head as company, desperately wishing tonight’s events weren’t so fucking inevitable.

 

The car they send is sleek, expensive and impersonal – the perfect symbol of Calum’s life in LA, he deduces. It’s almost funny, in a way, how easily all these regurgitated memories have placed a distasteful tint on the lifestyle he’s – quite honestly – _loved_ for the past two years. He feels it in the way his nose crinkles up slightly at the _phwump_ of the apartment door as it closes, almost disgusted by how convenient and modern it is, not at all like the hulking great slam of the bedroom door of his childhood home. He remembers viewing the apartment for the first time, with Ashton trailing beside him like an excited puppy, and how they’d both acted so sophisticated around the real estate agent but descended into shrieks once left alone to browse. The soft closing door had been an impressive feature then; now, just a bitter reminder of the polished faux-perfection he’d traded for the comforts of home.

The interior of the Benz is dark, not quite enough to hide Calum’s nervous lip bite or Ashton’s fidgety hands, but enough to feasibly pretend it does. The leather seats stick to Calum’s sweaty palms; the peeling of skin against it the only sound in the otherwise silent void. It makes Calum feel sick, the quiet only deepening his apprehension and concern and anxiety and distress and every other synonym for the horrible pit of _bluh_ that’s settled right at the bottom of his stomach.

He looks over at Ashton, whose eyes are focused so determinedly on his clasped hands that he looks almost in shock, and the sight of his best friend so perturbed only makes the whole feeling worse. Ashton doesn’t move once, not even to gaze out the window as they pass the one part of LA he usually can’t help but look at. In their two-year residency, Calum doesn’t think he’s _ever_ seen Ashton ignore the beach at sunset. It’s enough for Calum to decide he can’t stay and suffocate in the tension any longer.

“I can’t believe this is happening.”

It comes out as a whisper, and Calum’s half expecting Ashton to take it as some nervous mumbling not even worth acknowledging. They know each other better than that, though, because Ashton hums and nods, gaze still trained on his own lap.

“Me neither,” He muses, and his voice sounds just as distant as Calum’s did seconds before. “Glad you’re coming.”

“That makes one of us,” Calum forces a chuckle, but it’s dry and wrong under the weight of the statement. It seems to trigger something in the older boy, breaks him out of his trance so he shifts in his seat to peer inquisitively at Calum.

“Look, Cal,” He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe you should start looking at this as a good thing. It could be the closure you need, y’know?”

The words have barely left Ashton’s mouth before Calum snorts, shaking his head violently. It’s driving him mad, how his best friend seems to _refuse_ to understand what Calum himself can’t force his mind away from.

“Not like this.” Ashton nods, as encouragement to divulge, and Calum takes a deep breath. “I won’t get closure like this. Bumping into him in a coffee shop, yeah, or seeing him and his parents on a trip back home – sure, that I could do. But sat in a pretentious theatre watching some shitty overpaid actors play out our relationship, the most important part of my life, for the world to see? I just…” He trails off, expecting his best friend to push for more, for his true feelings, but nothing. His body betrays him, tears threatening to fall from his eyes and throat cracking with every breath, so he turns away to the window.

“I guess that’s just me and Michael, though.” Calum mumbles into the returned silence, “Always got to be something remarkable.”

 

**2007**

They meet on the first day of year seven, and Luke insists for hours afterwards that it’s love at first sight in its purest form.

High school is intimidating, is the first thought Calum forms as he steps through the doors and into the crowded hallway. It’s loud, and there’s more people in one corridor than Calum thinks he’s ever seen in one room in his whole life, and within seconds he feels himself shrinking into insignificance. Mali had abandoned him when they reached the bus stop, rubbing his arm with a smile and a quiet _“Don’t fuck up, just lay low”_ which quite frankly had done nothing for the butterflies in his stomach. He thinks she might have even made it worse, and makes a mental note to tell his mum when - and if - he makes it home that night.

Just as Calum’s seriously beginning to contemplate turning in his spot and running right home, there’s a tug on his sleeve and a familiar arm wrapped around his shoulder to drag him to one side.

“ _Luke,_ thank God.” Calum laughs with relief, heart returning to its normal rate now that he isn’t alone. “I didn’t think I’d be able to find you.”

“Yeah, it’s a little…” Luke trails off, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s busy. That’s okay though, Jack says as long as we make it to classes on time and don’t make friends with the weird kids we’ll be fine.”

Calum highly doubts it’s that easy, but Luke looks significantly more relaxed than he does – even with the fluorescent green glasses that _scream_ different – so he just shrugs.

“Sounds good. Mali told me to lay low.” Calum snorts, noticing the sister in question stood with her friends on the opposite side of the hallway. She keeps glancing over, a not quite concerned but definitely _something_ look on her face, to which Calum simply rolls his eyes.

“Hmm,” Luke nods, pensive for a moment then somehow even more determined. “We should probably listen to her, then. Mali’s a lot cooler than Jack; if we listen to her advice we’ll be more than fine.”

If Luke notices the snort of complete disagreement from Calum, he doesn’t show it. He doesn’t falter at all, actually, just hikes his backpack further onto his shoulder and sets off walking.

“Come on,” Luke beams. “Let’s go find our lockers!”

 

Twenty minutes later, and they’ve already broken one of Jack’s two golden rules, much to Luke’s dismay. Calum insists it’s not his fault; how was he supposed to know that his locker would be so far away from the classroom, and horrifically difficult to open for that matter? Luke disagrees.

“Come _on,_ Calum.” He’s stood with one foot propped behind him against the wall in some miscalculated attempt to look casual if a teacher happens to pass. The nervous twitch in his fingers gives him away, though – Luke’s petrified.

“It’ll be fine,” Calum repeats for the tenth time in so many minutes. “Lots of people get lost on the first day. We won’t even be the last one’s in there, Luke.”

“Whatever. If you can’t get it open in five more minutes I’m going without you.”

“What?!” Calum gasps, dropping his hands from the locker completely in favour of staring at Luke in shock. “You’re going to leave me on the first day?”

Luke rolls his eyes, “Jesus, Cal. I don’t _want_ to, but my mum will kill me if she finds out I was this late to my first ever class at high school.”

“Your mum loves me, Luke.” Calum whines, locker abandoned in his desperation. “You can just tell her you were being a good friend?”

“Oh my god, fine. Just get it open, Cal.”

Calum turns back to work with a triumphant smile, ignoring the huffs and puffs from his best friend beside him. He’s almost got it now, just needs to figure out how to unstick the key right at the end of the combination, then the locker will be open and they’ll both be free to go to class. There’s a loud squeak of shoes against polished floor from the end of the hallway, but Calum daren’t take his eyes off the locker for fear of losing all his progress. He’s _so_ close, just two more clicks to the right and-

A squealing lump drops straight onto him. Calum barely has time to catch his locker key before he’s falling flat on his back with a heavy _thud_ , with the squealing lump in question landing on top of him. He can’t breathe, just for a moment, and all his energy is so focused on the pain in his ribs that he can’t even be mad that he’s now at least ten minutes off opening his locker. Again. The lump starts to move.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry s-sorry, oh _god,_ I’m sorry-“

The lump – _boy_ , probably, rolls off Calum and onto the cold floor beside him. In the back of his mind, Calum can hear the all too familiar sound of Luke’s uncontrollable laughter, and he makes a mental note to thump his best friend in the arm when this whole disaster is over.

“It’s,” Calum coughs as the breath comes back to his lungs. “It’s alright, don’t worry.” He pushes himself shakily up to his knees, and a small hand is thrust in his face, an offer he happily takes to pull himself back to his feet.

Calum’s ready to make some half-assed passive aggressive comment, or just roll his eyes at this boy who is _clearly_ not ready for high school if he can’t even take care of where he’s going in the hallway – but his mind goes blank upon actually looking up.

He’s never been above calling people beautiful – even boys, which Mali has told him time and time again is _‘weird’_ , but Calum’s never really cared for fitting in – but describing the squealing lump of a boy standing before him as such would be an understatement, Calum thinks. His bright, green eyes seem to glow against the deep pink of his cheeks, still sort of chubby just like Calum’s and Luke’s, and lips that form into a strange half frown. Calum finds himself unable to stop the smile that grows on his face.

“Hi.” He chokes out, which is not at all what he meant to say, but it’ll do.

“Hey,” the boy returns, shuffling on his feet awkwardly. “I’m really sorry about that. I’m super clumsy and late so.”

Calum’s smile only widens, “It’s okay; we’re late too. I’m Calum.”

“Michael.”

“Nice to meet you, Michael.” Calum feels a little bit weird, but he doesn’t want the conversation to end there. He just wants this Michael to stay a little bit longer, so he can carry on staring and appreciating the little bit of hair that falls over his eyes and the cut above his eyebrow and the little dimple on his cheek and-

A cough interrupts his train of thought, and he whirls round in place to see Luke raising one eyebrow knowingly in his direction.

“Oh!” Calum exclaims, cheeks turning red under the embarrassment of being caught staring. “This is Luke.”

Luke waves with a laugh, to which Michael smiles and shyly waves back. Calum’s almost endeared by it all – not that he quite understands what that means. Right now, he just knows that Michael makes him smile and he wants to keep him around.

“Um,” He starts, not quite sure where he’s going but not particularly wanting to stop. “You should sit with us at lunch today. If-if you want, that is.”

There’s a moment of silence, and Calum swears he hears Luke sigh behind him, then Michael’s cracking the smallest of smiles and nodding.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Calum laughs, “Okay. Okay, cool. That’s cool.”

“See you at lunch then, Calum.” Michael says quietly, and Calum decides he likes how his name sounds in the boy’s timid voice.

Calum watches him walk away, feet awkwardly stepping on each other in his haste to get to class, and thinks that maybe high school isn’t going to be as bad as he first thought.

 

**Present**

With all the experience of two years in the industry behind him, most people would expect Calum to be used to high-profile events such as movie premieres by now. Most people would assume he’d be at ease walking red carpets and smiling at cameras, bumping shoulders with celebrities he’d once admired and talking to reporters he used to watch on television as a kid. Most people would probably go as far as to guess he’d feel positively at _home_ at events like these, what with the life of a model being so completely public anyway these days. Most people, of course, would be wrong.

Calum doesn’t think he’ll ever quite lose the dreaded _thump_ of butterflies in his stomach whenever the car pulls up to a carpet. It’s always there, even at the smallest of events when there’s barely any publicity and he’s only really going to see friends and make contacts; Ashton calls it a ‘side effect’ of the business he’s in, Calum prefers to think of it as his anxiety in action.

They don’t feel like butterflies now, though. There’s something not altogether right about associating beautiful, delicate products of nature with the disgustingly painful throbbing that’s got his stomach in bits, Calum thinks. It’s more like ninja stars. A giant flock of ninja stars parading around and around in his gut, ripping his every nerve to shreds as they go and leaving him doubled over in a nervous sort of agony. He can feel Ashton’s eyes on him from across the car seat, as they always are whenever they first arrive at an event. It’s a habit, on Ashton’s part anyway; the first charity ball they attended together was an absolute disaster involving a bucketful of vomit and one ruined pair of suede Chelsea boots. Ashton had learnt to keep one eye on his younger friend at all times after that.

The driver’s ushered away seconds after they pull up, and an unsettling stillness sits between them. It’s not quiet – music from the carpet outside filters through, and the unmistakable sound of clicking cameras is almost unbearably loud – but it feels as tense as if it was completely silent. Calum coughs, fiddles with the cuffs of his suit in an attempt to normalise the situation as much as he can, but Ashton just watches and sighs.

“Don’t pretend it’s just another event, Cal.”

Calum whips his head up in surprise. It’s exactly what he _didn’t_ expect to come from Ashton’s mouth. It’s actually completely the opposite. He’d prepared himself for every cliché in the book, prepared to nod along to _“just act as if he’s not even here”_ and _“you do this all the time.”_ But this?

“What?” He splutters, fingers now nervously picking at his own nails. “Why not?”

Ashton rolls his eyes, “Because it’s not just another event. We both know that, and pretending it is will only make things worse. Just try your best to keep cool. You’ve got this, Calum.”

Calum doesn’t agree even remotely, but he doesn’t have time to voice this disagreement before the car door is gently opened and the noises of reality are amplified. Ashton sends him a nod of encouragement and steps out, collected as ever, leaving Calum to stare in panic at his shaking hands. It hits him right there, right in that moment, how this all feels too real for the horrific nightmare that it _obviously_ is, that it has to be. There’s no way in hell that he’s really about to step out of a car and walk into a movie theatre to watch a film about _himself._ There’s no way in hell he’s about to watch a movie written by the boy he grew up with, the boy who changed his life, the boy he fell in love with so easily and left with so much difficulty. He’d pinch himself, if only he could feel his fucking fingers. With one last deep breath, Calum ducks his head out of the car and hopes to God the rest of his body follows.

Cameras flash from every direction, lighting up the night sky more than the shitty portable lamps lining the red carpet ever could. The music being pumped through the PA system is slow and low but sort of optimistic, the kind of song you’d find on some indie rom-com soundtrack that people don’t appreciate until ten years after its release. It’s an odd analogy, sure, but Calum appreciates the distraction he gets from the details. He can hear some photographers calling his name towards the back of the pack. It’s the usual bunch – a few fashion websites, a couple of blogs, the agency’s own hired guys – and for a second Calum can’t help but picture how different it’d be if everyone _knew_. He imagines how the entire press pit would be crawling over each other, finding for a picture and an interview with the insignificant Australian model who had a film written about him. The queasy feeling in his stomach only gets worse with the thought.

He lingers near the photo pit for as long as he possibly can, hitting every angle and even going as far as to strike up a conversation with a familiar face at the front of the pack. The photographer’s skeptical, as he should be; those on the carpet very rarely engage with those in the pit for any longer than necessary, and Calum’s really taking the piss with all the small talk. He gets the hint eventually though, reluctantly shuffling further down the carpet once another more appealing picture opportunity arises.

Just as Calum’s starting to give up hope – sweaty palms clasped together and seconds away from slipping out of a side door and away from the event completely – he spots the one saving grace of the entire night, probably. She’s stood with her back to him, microphone thrust into the face of an actor Calum’s met at a few different charity nights and nodding thoughtfully along. Her cameraman spots him first and shoots him an enthusiastic smile, which Calum returns, before nudging her and signaling to wrap the current interview up. She does so with haste once she realises who’s stood behind her.

“Calum Hood, lovely to see you again!”

“How ya’ doing, Ashley?” Calum smiles, the first genuine smile of the night, at the giggly reporter beside him. She’d been the first carpet interviewer to give him a chance, shoving the mic in his face at his very first event and carrying him the entire way through the conversation, and they’d struck up an odd sort of bond ever since. Calum likes her enough, honestly; she’s the only one who seems actually interested in whatever he has to say, and that’s more than good enough for him.

Ashley’s in particularly high spirits tonight, Calum notices almost immediately, which is even better news than usual. She leads the conversation as expected, pausing for Calum to fill in details about his upcoming work and shows he’s enjoyed in the past few months, designers he’d love to work with, all that industry talk. It’s the usual chatter for a few minutes – nothing to make big news, but enough to satisfy fans of his – but then she’s talking past her usual wrap up time, and Calum’s starting to panic just a little.

“So, how many premieres do you find yourself being invited to?” Ashley cocks her head as she asks, flicking her eyes to the right for just a second. Calum follows her eyeline and starts to relax; it’s clear she’s just stalling time until someone else arrives.

“More than you’d think actually,” He laughs, fake and rehearsed and perfect for the cameras. “I don’t exactly know why they need models at these things but, hey, free movies, right?” He smiles when he gets Ashley’s trademark giggle in response, knows that he’s pulling off the nerves despite the uncomfortable situation. It doesn’t help the goosebumps on his arms, though, or how his eyes wander for a familiar mop of bright red.

“All movies are good movies,” Ashley laughs, adjusting the mic a little closer to Calum. “Have you heard much about this one? I hear the writer’s a fellow Aussie?”

The air seems to get colder in an instant. It feels like shutting down, like every nerve in his body just up and abandons him the second he hears the question, because for some reason he didn’t actually expect anybody to ask. Why would the world want to know some model’s opinion of the movie? Why is that important? Calum can only blink, mouth dropped open and hanging gormlessly as Ashley waits for a response. There’s a few seconds of uninterrupted silence, but she’s just nodding in encouragement and Calum doesn’t think he can handle this, doesn’t think he can even get two words out without collapsing completely and his skin feels prickly and he’s getting hotter and Ashton was wrong because he definitely _cannot_ do this. So he does what he does best.

He leaves. Throws Ashley a half-assed smile that doesn’t go further than his lips, turns on his heel and walks further down the carpet. It feels _so_ wrong to abandon an interview like that, and Calum’s sure every fibre in his body would be screaming at him to turn back if they weren’t all currently occupied with trying to keep his hands from shaking in his pockets.

It’s nothing short of a miracle that Calum spots Ashton at the end of the carpet, stood back turned against a wall and looking out into the sea of reporters that occupy the entrance to the theatre. Calum’s unsure he’ll even make the ten steps needed to reach his friend, but the last morsel of motivation evading the catastrophe in his gut spurs him on.

“Ash,” He pants, reaching one hand out to Ashton’s shoulder in desperation. “Ash, we need to get out of here.” He can feel his lungs start to betray him, start to seize up in his chest, and the dread of impending panic is falling on him like a building.

Ashton doesn’t move. Not even a shrug, not a hum to acknowledge he’s aware Calum’s talking to him. Nothing. Calum doesn’t have time for his stubborn shit; he’s losing his breath fast.

“Ashton, we need to fucking go.” He knows he’s talking just a bit too loud, knows he should probably not cause a commotion considering the agency’s already going to have his ass for butchering an interview. It doesn’t stop him, though, not when he’s seconds away from having a breakdown and Ashton won’t even look his way.

 _“Ashton, for fuck’s sake!_ ” Calum hisses one last time, grabbing the older man by the shoulder and spinning him around to drag him away, because if he won’t fucking come by himself then-

Calum gasps when Ashton turns round. His eyes are wide, lip trapped between his teeth and sweat starting to pool on his forehead. Ashton looks exactly how Calum feels, and there’s only one reason Calum can think of for that. He braves a glance over his shoulder, staring into the hustle of reporters – and he’s there.

The first thing Calum notices is the hair - a little longer than he remembers, hanging messily over his forehead – and how it seems to tower over every other head in the sea of people. Calum wants to laugh, because _of course_ the lankiest bastard he’d ever met got even taller with age, and a dull ache creeps up in his chest when he realises just how happy he is to see him in person after so long. His legs twitch in place, desperate to run and leap on the best friend he’s not seen in years, desperate to just wash away whatever bad blood might be between them. He can’t though, for Ashton’s sake.

“Come on, Ash.” Calum tugs at his sleeve dejectedly. Both pairs of eyes are still firmly on the man stood mere metres away from them, but Calum sighs with defeat. “We need to go.”

“I-I’m…” Ashton stutters, blinking back into this universe with the feeling of his best friend grabbing his arm. “He’s right there, Cal. He’s right there.”

“I know. We gotta go.”

He’s reluctant – Calum can feel it in his every movement – but eventually, Ashton tears his eyes away and nods. It breaks Calum’s heart to see it; that shimmer of hope that had been hiding in his eyes for weeks finally blazing strong in his irises, only to be dulled again by the reality of the situation. In another world, Calum would do anything to bring that hope back to full glory, including ignoring his every instinct to bring two of his favourite people together once more. But it’s not another world, and Calum’s still seconds away from a breakdown, and there’s still three years of uncertainty between them, and Ashton’s still shaking where he stands – so they go. They leave the carpet and head into the dark of the theatre, because it’s the only thing they can do.

Calum ignores the bright blue eyes following their movement as they do so, just like he ignores the flash of unruly red stepping onto the carpet as they step off it.

 

**2013**

November nights in Sydney are made for bonfire parties. The golden glow lighting up happy drunk faces, the crackle of burning wood over the muted thump of bass from inside the house, the smell of smoke that sticks to your skin hours after the fire’s gone out. The circle of empty cans and empty camp chairs around the flaming centerpiece holds echoes of laughter and careless happiness, the acoustic guitar propped up against the garden shed bound to bring back wonderful memories of being stoned and content and singing out of key to four chord pop punk songs. It’s the perfect aftermath scene for the perfect eighteenth party.

Calum’s alone outside. The once blazing fire is now barely burning embers, not even bright enough for Calum to see the unlit cigarette in his fingers. He tries to view it as some kind of metaphor, tries to force himself to believe that every strong flame fizzles out eventually, but that doesn’t make thinking about tonight any easier. The feeling in his heart sure does feel like that fire’s still burning, and he’s unsure it’ll ever go out.

He fumbles around in his pockets for a second, desperate to find a lighter, before abandoning his search in favour of shoving the end into the embers and hoping for the best. The cigarette comes back dirty and covered in ash, but lit nonetheless. Now that’s a metaphor Calum can get behind, he thinks; just because the cigarette’s burning, doesn’t mean you should take a drag. Sometimes even the most tempting things are bad for you.

He smokes it anyway, because he’s never had the most convincing willpower and he needs it if he’s going to make it through the night. The guilt’s already started gnawing away the forefront of his mind, threatening to devour all the optimistic plans and ideas and alternatives before he’s even had a chance to say them aloud. He breathes the smoke in deep, deeper than usual maybe, in some deluded attempt to kill whatever demons of guilt are residing in his chest. The rush of nicotine only seems to feed them, though, and he sighs when he realises there’s simply no getting out of this. He takes another drag.

“Thought you weren’t smoking anymore.” A voice calls out from the patio doors, and Calum’s heart begins to sink. That voice – with all its raspy tones and random high intonation – raises goosebumps on his skin with every word, and the subconscious reaction only fuels the guilt that bit more.

“Yeah, well,” Calum shrugs. “I felt like it.”

The sound of the patio door sliding shut echoes in the darkness, and Calum thinks he’s saved himself a few more hours, but then there’s soft footsteps padding across the grass and up to his chair.

Michael’s drunk, that much is obvious. His hair’s all sweaty and matted to his forehead and his pupils are blown just a little too wide for alcohol to be all that’s running through his veins, but Calum’s heart flutters at the sight anyway. He reaches out with shaking fingers to sweep the older boy’s fringe to one side, and he can’t help but smile when Michael instinctively follows his hand with his forehead even when the action’s done.

“Where’ve you been, Cal?” Michael hums, eyes still closed and a small smile gracing his face as Calum continues to pet the side of his head like a cat. It’s adorable, disgustingly so, but Calum can feel the guilt practically eating away his insides and it’s too much.

“I need to tell you something, Mikey.”

It’s like those seven words are seven gallons of water, because Michael sobers up instantaneously. Gone is the soft humming and idyllic smile, replaced with hard eyes and a furrowed brow that screams concern. In that second, Calum knows. He’d been able to kid himself so far, to convince himself that he’d done a decent enough job of hiding everything, but that immediate concern means his boyfriend knows.

“Is it what you’ve needed to tell me for a month now?” Michael whispers, stare held right into Calum’s eyes. It’s intimidating, that much love and hope in just two eyes. “I know you’ve been keeping something from me, Cal. You’ve been distant for a while.”

Calum tries to ignore the thoughts flying to his tongue – that he’s not even seen the start of ‘distant’ – and stares down at his fingers instead. The cigarette’s burnt out, and he throws it to one side, only for his wrist to be caught between pale and shaking fingers. When he looks up, he can’t help but shrivel in his seat. Michael looks defeated already. The hope in his eyes is quickly transforming into something different, something unfamiliar that Calum never ever wants to see in those beautiful eyes, but knows he’ll have to face up to tonight. His bottom lip’s quivering, and Calum knows it’s because he’s a little bit drunk, but he can’t comprehend how upset Michael already is. He’s not even told him yet.

“I need to know, Cal.” His voice comes out stuttered, emotion already affecting him. “Don’t hide things from me.”

Calum breathes. He breathes deep, closing his eyes and holding it all in one last time. It makes him feel airy, like he’s not even real, and he thinks that maybe that’ll help this. If he doesn’t believe it’s happening, maybe it won’t hurt so much.

“I’m leaving.”

The resulting silence is almost unbearable. It’s as if the world stops, completely, and Calum’s never felt like this before, and doesn’t think he’ll ever experience it again. The sound of cars, the sound of wind, even the white noise ringing in his ears – all gone. It’s completely and utterly silent.

And then it’s not.

“You’re what?” It’s barely audible, more of a reflexive whimper than a response, and it shatters Calum’s heart into a million pieces. It’s clear Michael doesn’t understand; his brow’s still furrowed and his gaze is unfocused, but that just ruins Calum even more. Michael has no idea what’s going on, and he’s still seconds away from a breakdown.

“I’m, um, I’m leaving.” Calum repeats, even though it feels like a blade deeper in his chest with every word. “My family’s moving to New Zealand. And I’m going with them.”

“When?” Michael asks quietly, but the lilt to his voice suggests he doesn’t even want to know the answer.

Calum inhales, prepares himself for the words to fall out of his mouth, “Two days. There’s a scholarship. I’m guaranteed a place on the starting line-up for the next five years; they’ve offered me free physio for my knee if I’m there by next week.”

“Oh.” Michael coughs.

Now, Calum knows Michael better than anyone – as much as one person could know another, some might say. In all their years spent inseparable, Calum’s learnt every tiny expression, every noise of satisfaction or anxiety or disagreement. He could sketch the details of Michael’s every emotion blindfolded, probably. But in that moment, and for the first time since falling in love with the older boy, Calum has no idea what his boyfriend is thinking.

Michael keeps quiet for a moment, cocks his head as if pondering the situation a little further, then quickly wipes underneath his eye and meets Calum’s stare. “So you’re breaking up with me?”

It’s so unexpected that it makes Calum choke, “What?!” He stares incredulously at his boyfriend, who’s all of a sudden desperately trying to stop the tears that are streaming down his cheeks. “No, Mikey, I’m not breaking up with you. We can make this work, I’ll come back for holidays and you can come and see me and-“

He’s interrupted by a sob – a loud, fractured, heartbreaking sob. Michael’s shaking, eyes clenched shut and hands running through his hair. He looks _in pain_ , little whimpers and pants escaping his mouth as he tries to compose himself, and Calum couldn’t stop the tears that pool at the front of his eyes even if he tried.

“Mikey…”

“ _No.”_ Michael snaps his head up, standing from his chair with fists by his side. He looks down at Calum, and everyone else would see complete fury, but Calum knows his boyfriend better than that. He sees the devastation in his eyes, and it completely obliterates what little is left of the dam holding back his emotion. “You don’t call me that anymore, Calum. You don’t call me _anything_. Fuck,” He laughs, a watery, almost delirious sound. “I can’t believe this is happening. On my fucking birthday, too.”

“Michael, babe, please,” Calum’s crying now too, all reservation completely gone. “I don’t want to lose you, I love you so much, plea-“

“Shut _up_ , Calum. You don’t love me, you don’t fucking love me!” Michael screams, and Calum can’t help but glance to his left where, sure enough, a crowd has gathered at the patio doors. Luke’s right at the front, Ashton stood with both arms wrapped around him, and he can’t tell if he’s imagining the disappointment in his eyes. He hopes to God he is.

“Of course I fucking love you, Michael!” He’s shouting, he doesn’t want to shout, this was meant to be a calm conversation. But the angry tears running down his cheeks won’t stop and he just needs Michael to _listen._ “I love you so fucking much, and it’ll work! It’ll work _because_ I love you as much as I fucking do!”

It’s quiet then. Michael’s clenched fists fall apart and Calum flinches like he’s been punched when he sees how much his frail hands are shaking. His own hands twitch by his side, aching to rush forward and hold the boy in front of him and convince him everything will be okay. But this is real life, and the little optimism Calum had going into the conversation is gone, and he’s pretty sure nothing will ever be okay again after this. He takes a step forward, but Michael just raises one hand and closes his eyes.

“If you loved me, you wouldn’t be leaving.” His shoulders slump, head shaking in defeat and _exhaustion_. “If you can even comprehend the thought of leaving me, you don’t love me as much as I thought you did, Calum.”

“No,” Calum tries. His voice is almost unrecognizable, even to him, under the weight of the tears. “I don’t _want_ to go, Michael. I have to-“

“Who says? Who’s forcing you?”

Calum falters, “Mike, I can’t stay here without my family, you know that.”  
“So you’re choosing to go.” Michael nods and takes one deep breath, as if convincing himself he can continue. Calum’s seen him do it a million times, before presentations in class and important conversations. It’s strange, how after all the crying and shouting, that one little detail is the one that hurts the most. It kills Calum that Michael’s having to force himself to be brave, because this time Calum can’t do it for him.

“You’re choosing to go,” Michael says, and it’s with such finality that Calum knows what’s coming next. “You’ve chosen to leave me, so you need to leave. And don’t come back.”

Knowing it’s coming doesn’t make it hurt less. There’s a fleeting moment of disbelief, then pain. Crushing, winding, heart stopping pain falling down on him and forcing him to his knees. It feels like being trapped under a ton of concrete with no escape route. It feels like seven swords thrust into his chest all at once. It feels like being stood in the middle of a burning room, and he knows he needs to run but his muscles decide it isn’t worth it. It feels like being in love, and having the person you love walk away from you.

“You don’t mean that,” Calum breathes, words broken by sobs. “You _can’t_ mean that, Mikey.”

“You need to leave.” Michael turns away, starts to walk towards the crowd at the patio doors, leaving Calum on his knees. He can’t breathe, all of a sudden, like Michael is his literal oxygen and every step he takes is pulling the plug on the life support just a little bit further out of the socket.

“I thought we were forever, Michael. Don’t do this. Don’t _leave_ me.” His breaths are coming out short and sharp, heart pounding in his chest and threatening to burst out at any second. In the corner of his vision, he can see Ashton step away from the patio, as if he’s coming towards him. But he can’t focus on that; all he can see through his teary eyes is Michael – the love of his life – stood still, back towards him, in the middle of the garden.

He turns, and there’s fresh tears on his cheek as he says, “I thought so too, Calum. But I can’t have a forever with you if you’re not here.” He shakes his head, eyes closed like he can’t even bear to look at the boy knelt before him. “I’m not leaving you, because you’ve already left me.”

Michael sighs one last time, turns and walks away, taking Calum’s broken heart with him.

 

The road home from Michael’s house is a twenty-minute walk, but it’s an hour before Calum stumbles through his front door. It’s strange, he thinks somewhere in the back of his mind, how you can know a journey like the back of your hand, walk it every day, and somehow forget every twist and turn just like that. He knows there’s something symbolic there, knows he should be reading into that in his heartbroken state, but he’s too concentrated on making it to the bathroom to care.

Sobs still tear from his throat, and the wretching from his stomach leaves him feeling raw and sore. Through his clouded vision, he can barely make out the confines of the hallway. His body is entirely numb, limbs hitting walls and corners recklessly, and he knows he’ll wake up bruised and aching tomorrow, but all physical pain is incomparable to the searing hurt in his chest.

The toilet bowl is uninviting and cold, but he hugs it regardless, dry heaving and sobbing loudly into the porcelain. There’s no tears now, nothing left to shed, but the pain is still burning and he still can’t catch his breath. It’s starting to feel like he never will. He can’t find it in him to care.

He doesn’t know how long he spends sitting there, crying and wretching and wishing he were dead, but eventually there’s a quiet knock on the bathroom door. He ignores it, of course; the thought of having to see anyone right now is repulsive, triggers another wave of dread to ripple through his quaking body. The soft _thump_ of the door opening and closing echoes in the room anyway, and he hears a sigh from behind him. It somehow makes him sob harder, recognising the soft tone of voice.

“Oh, Cal.” Mali kneels beside him, one hand rubbing his back in an attempt to comfort him and the other brushing the hair from his forehead. Calum can’t take it, can’t handle the sympathetic eyes she’s giving him and how he can already see how tears threaten her lower lash line. He hides his face in the bowl, trying to silence his sobs and stop his body shaking as much. It doesn’t work, and the frustration just makes him cry harder. He collapses into his sister’s arms, succumbs to her comforting embrace and breaks down.

“It’s okay,” Mali whispers. “Everything’s going to be okay, Cal.”

And sitting there on the bathroom floor, shivering and crying in his sister’s arms with his room packed into boxes just down the hall and the most important person in his life gone, Calum knows that’s a lie.

 

**Present**

It’s every bit as heartbreaking as he imagines, and then some. He can’t describe the feeling; the incomparable pain of having to relive his happiest moments and knowing they’re in the past. It’s horrifying.

He leaves the second he sees it – the quirky little calendar edit landing on ‘June,’ that is. He knows what’s coming, recognises the back porch and the wintery setting, and makes a run for the exit before the churning in his stomach gets too much. It’s a step too far, having to watch as two complete strangers pretend to realise they’re in love. It’s all too fake, but too real for Calum.

The alley at the back of the theatre is thankfully empty when he bursts into it. He can see the gentle rain falling in the glow of the streetlight and the cold night bites at his skin, but anything’s better than being inside. Besides, Calum reasons, the gloomy weather suits his mood perfectly.

He takes a seat by the emergency exit, back leant against the cool brick of the building. The rain that’s collected in the groove of the cement soaks through his suit jacket, not that he cares; the cold feels nice against the burning of the rest of his body. He can’t quite place it – anger, regret, sadness – but the heat that’s roaring through his veins is the only thing preventing him from falling completely into numbness, so he welcomes it regardless.

For a minute or so, he allows the guilt of leaving to consume him. He focuses on Ashton’s face beside him as he stood up, the smallest hint of disappointment not quite masked by the understanding in his eyes, and the confusion he could see from those staring back at him as he fled the aisles of the theatre. It makes him feel sick, the judgement from anonymous people who have no clue what’s really going on, but even worse is the true guilt he doesn’t want to feel at all. It’s the niggling voice at the back of his mind, the one that looks down on Calum for not being able to put his feelings aside and sit through the whole thing – the voice that tells him he owes it to Michael to at least appreciate his work. It creeps to the forefront of his thoughts, threatening to really break through to him, but then scenes of recreated childhood bedrooms and constructed love replay in his mind and the voice is silenced immediately.

The packet of Marlboros in his suit pocket feels heavier than it has all night, and he succumbs to the weight as soon as the nausea in his stomach reappears. He knows Ashton would disapprove if he could see him, but Calum reckons the strength it took to even step foot in that god damn theatre in the first place justifies his desperate fumbling for a cigarette now. Ashton being Ashton would disagree, of course, and take him to a bar or a gym or even an abandoned park to just scream away the stress, but Ashton’s not here and the unidentifiable heat is still burning and Calum just needs some fucking nicotine.

The effect’s instantaneous. One drag and his shoulders slump, head drops and chest deflates like the weight of the world has been ripped from its seemingly permanent home on top of him. The orange glow illuminates Calum’s shaking fingers, highlighting botched ink permanently scrawled on the inset of his ring finger. It’s the perfect symbol for the mess that is his past; three initials for a song that meant the world to him at seventeen, enough to stick and poke into his skin and the pale skin next to him. Calum stares at it now, the ‘S.A.L’ – _Soco Amaretto Lime –_ and remembers all the drunken whispers of ‘ _just jealous ‘cos we’re young and in love_ ’ between kisses that night, the complete naivety, the simple belief that everything would be okay forever as long as they had one another. He takes another drag of his cigarette, and the ensuing calm is almost enough to smother his wish that all that was still true.

Under the streetlight, Calum can just make out that he’s not completely alone in the alley. There’s a rat – which, admittedly, would freak him out on any other day – meandering through the various obstacles of garbage and potholes on the other side of the small path, and Calum finds himself happily distracted watching where the little rodent’s wandering takes him. The rat seems spontaneous, happy to go wherever whenever and look at anything that interests it, and it doesn’t take long for Calum to come to absurd conclusion that he wishes he was more like that. He chuckles dryly at the thought, but the meaningless laughing is nicer than the all-consuming silence he’d been suffering in before, so he stays just like that – content and light and laughing at a rat.

“Still smoking then?”

If he had to describe it, he’d call it a tsunami; the knowledge that something had to be coming, but the shock still sudden and cold and suffocating when it finally arrives. The temperature in the alley drops in a second, though Calum can’t tell if it’s just him, and every little fibre and molecule freezes in its place. There’s a muted thud that sounds like the backdoor to the theatre closing, and it dawns on him that he must not have heard it open through his own stupid laughter. He heard the voice, though. He’s pretty sure he could pick that voice out from a thousand miles away. He’d recognise it even if he was deaf.

“Yeah.”

It comes out broken and weak, the first word spoken to him in three years. Calum supposes that’s fine though, considers it a worthy representation of how he’s feeling in that moment. He inhales for a second, listens to the sound of the breathing behind him, and allows himself to prepare for what’s about to happen, what was always going to happen. He exhales once, and turns around.

He’s changed, is the first thing Calum thinks. Even in stance, there’s an aura of confidence that wasn’t there before, and he looks… healthy. His hair’s styled differently, shaped around his face rather than flopping straight over it like it often was years ago, but it’s the same colour, the same vibrant red that makes him so himself. His skin’s as pale as ever, but barely noticeable pink flushes his cheeks in the cold air, and Calum’s heart stings in his chest at just how much he’s missed all those little things.

It’s silent for the longest time. Calum can’t stop himself; his eyes wash over the boy- _man_ in front of him a million times, taking in every little change and everything he remembers. The freckle on his thumb. The tattoo between his fingers. The way his foot taps as he stands there in the quiet. It’s all so familiar and foreign simultaneously that it makes Calum feel nauseous with the intensity of it all.

He can’t quite believe Michael Clifford’s standing in front of him after all this time.

“I, uh. I didn’t know you’d be here,” Michael coughs, and Calum watches as his eyes roam Calum’s body like he had done just seconds before. “I didn’t even know you’d left Sydney.”

Calum nods, a tornado of words and promises and questions ghosting over his tongue but nothing quite coming out. He wants to voice his agreement, wants to tell Michael that he, too, had no idea that the other boy was in LA, but there’s something about the silence of the moment that purses his lips shut for him.

It’s just, Michael won’t look up – and it’s not that he’s particularly avoiding Calum’s gaze, per se, but Calum’s itching with the need to stare into those green eyes again, and there’s nothing he can think to say that might make that happen. He doesn’t know how to articulate three years worth of misery, three years of regret, three years worth of love into just a few sentences.

In the end, Michael does it for him.

“I missed you.”

And, there it is. Calum’s losing himself in the eyes he loves so much, once more. He doesn’t know if it’s some vain hope, some little thread in the back of his mind clinging on, but it’s like nothing’s changed at all. There’s still that enthusiastic air of mystery, the shining gold flecks of creativity, and – perhaps most importantly – the same twinkle of adoration when he’s looking at Calum.

“I, uh,” Michael plays with his fingers, as Calum remembers he often does when he’s nervous. “I still miss you, actually. A lot.”

“I miss you too.” And speaking has never come so easy. Calum breathes it in, the strange sort of happiness he feels right then, because even if it’s only for now he has the boy he’ll always love the most right where he belongs. It might be in a dark alley with the rain soaking their suits and the sound of a rat scavenging for food behind them, but they’re together. For however brief a moment.

The smell of cigarette smoke wafts between them, and Calum’s all of a sudden desperate to never smoke again. He stubs it out wordlessly, turning to sit back down on the curb and nodding for Michael to do the same. He’s hesitant to sit, like he’s not sure where this is going, but they’re close enough that their thighs touch just above the knee and Calum swears he’s never been more alive in his life.

“Couldn’t make it through the film, I’m guessing?” Michael says lowly, but there’s a teasing hint to his voice that has Calum question the guilt he felt before. When he looks to the side, the older boy’s sort of grinning, gazing thoughtfully at Calum.  
“Nope,” He admits, and the smile that starts to grow is inevitable. “Had to leave when it got to that day on the porch.”

Michael hums, “Ahh, can’t blame you. I’m impressed you managed to watch even a bit; better than I’ve ever done.”

Calum’s so focused on ingesting the sound of Michael’s voice, his every lilt and intonation, that he almost misses it. It takes a second, but he frowns and cocks his head in confusion.

“Wait what?” Michael laughs at the reaction, and Calum’s heart is aflame as it rings in his ears.

“I haven’t watched it.” He smiles.

Calum’s bemusement only deepens, “You haven’t watched it? A film that _you_ wrote?”

“Nope.” Michael laughs, and pops the _p._ It sends Calum back years, has him remembering early mornings and late nights laid in bed having to listen to his insolent boyfriend tease and taunt over god knows what. For the first time in a long time, the memory makes him happy instead of miserable.

“How come?”

Michael’s eyes drop, then. Calum feels the shift instantly; from the reckless happiness at having seen each other again to the heavy reality of just why they’d spent so long apart. He sees it in the pale fingers that twiddle and fidget in place – ones he has to restrain himself not to take hold of and intertwine with his own – and the nervous chewing on deep pink lips.

“I guess,” Michael begins. “I guess nothing was ever gonna be as beautiful as the real thing, so why bother?”

It takes everything within Calum to keep from breaking down. Emotion sticks in his throat, tears pool under his eyelids and start to spill over his cheeks, masked only by the falling rain. He’s warm again – too hot with that unidentifiable feeling back in his veins, on fire where he and Michael’s bodies touch. It’s too much to hear him speak about everything that happened with such sadness.

“Don’t.” Calum chokes out, and the confusion on Michael’s face must mirror his own. “I know how beautiful it was. I’ll never forget it.”

There’s something in Michael’s eye that Calum can’t decipher, and that fact in itself takes Calum’s breath away for just a moment. They’re so in tune with each other, so familiar with everything, that he thought he knew every single look and hint. But this is new, this blend of hope and anger and something else entirely. It scares him.

“You should probably go back in for the grand finale.” Michael laughs, but it’s wrong and broken and sounds thick, like he’s trying to hold something back.

“Why?”

Michael shakes his head, meeting Calum’s stare once more. It ignites something inside him; it feels a lot like home. “I… we…” He coughs, “In the book. I didn’t exactly follow what happened.”

“What do you mean?” Calum’s concerned now, watching the nervous fidgeting of the boy he loves.

“Writing became sort of an escape for me when you, y’know,” He winces. “Left. I put everything I wanted to say to you into a stupid word document. And then I just… it’s pathetic.”

“Say it.”

Michael sighs, and the sound of it makes Calum crumble. He knows what’s coming, knows Michael’s beautiful optimism just aswell as he knows his own destructive pessimism.

“I wrote our lives together, y’know? I wrote how happy we were, how you never left and how everything was fine. Because I wanted to believe it.”

It breaks his heart to see; Michael can’t look him in the eye, chooses to stare at the ground as he talks. Calum’s stomach is in shreds – something like nerves, but not quite – at the thought of it, at the thought of Michael’s envisioned perfect future for the two of them.

“It’s not pathetic,” Calum tries, shuffling to nudge the older boy just a little. “I wanted to believe it too. I tried for too long to forget we ever happened, thought it’d be easier. It wasn’t. After that I just… I existed with you always right there in the back of my mind.”

“Things could’ve been so much better for us, Cal.”

Calum hums. He’s always known it, just tried hard to forget it. Their relationship was too good to just throw away over a few angry words and false promises, too much for Calum to just walk away from. He did anyway, though. Because that’s what he does.

“If my timing’s right,” Michael laughs a little, chuckles the tension away like he tends to do. “You can probably make it in there for the big speech.”

Calum hums, “Big speech?”

“Everything I wanted to say to you three years ago.” There’s a pause, an ugly sort of silence in which Calum holds his breath, then, “Word for word.”

For a second, he considers it. He considers standing up, leaving Michael’s side to watch as a paid actor falsely spits the words he wishes he could’ve heard all that time ago. It’s tempting, admittedly, to finally find out if his regrets were reciprocated, if the love was still there, if Michael was just as damn sorry as he was. In the end, though, it’s an obvious decision.

“Nah,” Calum smiles. “I’d rather hear it from you.”

The look on Michael’s face – in one understated, all-encapsulating word – is pensive. Calum remembers that particular expression fondly; it reminds him of early mornings trying to figure out video games, sunsets watched from an unstable roof, half-assed maths tests and not quite understanding where the recipe went wrong. It was always one of Calum’s favourite states of Michael – behind only post-intimacy haziness and lovestruck afternoon lounging – because it often preceded some soppy confession of adoration or hope.

“I’m so fucking in love with you,” Michael breathes, and Calum catches his thoughts in his throat as they come to life. “I never stopped loving you, with all my heart. When we fought, when you told me you were leaving… I was so hurt. I was hurt because I thought you were _it_ for me, y’know, and then you were just abandoning me and it felt like the end of us. But it’s _us._ That’s the entire fucking point; we were stronger than the distance between two countries. We could’ve made it, and if I’d just have fucking stayed and listened that night we might’ve done.” He coughs, takes a second to stare at the building across from him, and smiles. “Three years, it’s been. That’s, like, a thousand days, you know? And it feels like forever and just a few seconds all at once. Because it hurt so much being without you for so long, but I love you just as much as always right now – in this cold fucking alley. Right in this moment.”

There’s silence. Calum wants to fill it, he knows he should, but the words can’t seem to make their way out of his mouth. He’s awestruck, honestly. Amazed, speechless, blown away – all of the above. The little spark of hope right in the pit of his stomach is a roaring fire. His mouth feels dry, fingers feel clammy, skin feels tight in all the wrong places. Calum feels like he’s falling in love. Because he is. Over and over again.

“You have no idea how happy I am to hear that.” It’s all he can say, and he just hopes to God it’s enough. It must be, clearly, because Michael’s smiling and then there’s pale skin touching his for the first time in three years, and everything seems… _right_ again.

“So…” Michael trails off, eyes trained on their intertwined fingers like the sight is a work of art itself. Which, it sort of is. “We’re giving this a go? You know, us?”

“Yeah,” Calum smiles, and it’s the first smile in three years with no restriction, no guilt, no regret. When he smiles at Michael, there’s nothing there but love. “Let’s rewrite the ending.”

 

To Calum’s left, headlights are still flashing by every second as cars speed down the road. To his right, smoke still billows out of the windows of some highbrow restaurant kitchen. The world continues as it always has and always will, but it seems so much brighter with Michael’s hand back in his.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I'm considering writing a shorter follow up delving into Luke and Ashton's relationship a bit more so let me know if that's something you'd be interested in.


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